Merry Mended Hearts (Santa’s Radio Christmas Romance #1)

6. Grace

GRACE

Boone Harper should wear caution tape.

The minute he’d left my room— his room—last night, my thoughts went berserk. The monkeys were tapdancing now, running amok up and down trees and screeching like lovesick squirrels.

I couldn’t go to sleep, not after that. Not with the images mongering in my brain.

Because every time I closed my eyes, there he was. I pictured him in all his shirtless glory, wearing a kilt as he rode a stallion into battle. Ears pointed as was typical of his elven people, muscles rippling as he wielded a sword, he struck down his enemy and rescued the fair, captive princess who’d captivated him with a single sweet melody when they’d met earlier in the woods.

It was all coming together.

My muse didn’t care that it was tired asleep or that I’d been torn from a dream—because reality?

Was so much better.

Hello, abs. Every single one of them was making an appearance in my story.

I sat on the edge of the bed and ignored my laptop, diving for my notebook instead. There was something to be said about writing by hand that stirred my creativity. I was determined to recreate with words the exact shading of the days’ growth on Boone’s formidable jawline, a look that could cut just as sharply as his blade.

Now, that was a jawline.

And then there was the molten chocolate color of his espresso eyes, which were framed by dark lashes. But I couldn’t use the word “espresso.” They didn’t have those in my fantasy world.

Could men’s eyes be framed by dark lashes? Would “bordered” be better?

Ugh. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this.

I shook my head and inhaled. Boone had made my mouth water as though sugary, homemade icing were melting on my tongue.

Yeah. That was a good one.

I leveled my pen against the paper, but for some reason, it wouldn’t move.

“Oh, come on,” I grumbled to the blank page. “He would make the perfect hero in any story.”

And he would.

How any woman could be in the same room with him and not salivate over his right-hook smile and impactful gaze was beyond me. He had the art of glowering, of smoldering, of brooding and giving a mysterious edge to his very existence down pat.

I’d come to Harper’s Inn for book research—and wow, had I gotten it.

Boone was definitely book boyfriend material.

With that thought, I lowered the pen and crisscrossed my feet. He wasn’t just book boyfriend material. The truth was, I hadn’t felt what Boone made me feel in a long time.

That thought gave me pause. I held the pen without letting its tip touch the paper.

Even though all kinds of phrases pouring into my brain and begging to be put down, Boone wasn’t someone from my imagination. I didn’t make him up. And certainly didn’t make up the jackhammer-like heart palpitations he gave me.

I didn’t want to trivialize that by making it fictional.

No way. With a man like Boone Harper, I wanted him to be anything but make-believe.

Eventually, I fell asleep, but my brain didn’t get the hint that it needed to shut down. Because the whole night, I dreamed about Boone Harper.

He’d been such a contradiction. Flirtatious and charming one minute, then bordering on rudeness the next. Maybe he was married, and he thought I’d been coming onto him when I’d asked him about the radio.

Had I, though? I didn’t think so.

My dreams relayed different ways the scenario could have gone when we’d first met. My favorite one featured Boone being as completely struck by me as I was by him.

We were the only two in the room. He’d asked for my number and then planned a clandestine meeting place where he then swept me into his manly, muscular arms. Hearts throbbing, blood pulsing, he slammed his lips to mine and stole what was left of my breath…

I woke up feeling as frazzled as if I’d stuck a fork in an electric socket. It took me several moments of staring around his room before I realized where I was—and what reality was.

“It was just a dream,” I told myself, sliding my notebook away from me since apparently, I’d fallen asleep while I was still holding it. “Snap out of it.”

No such thing would happen with him.

Or would happen, like, ever.

Mom was constantly telling me that I lived too much in my own head. She set me up with guys who always fell short. No man in real life ever lived up to the standards set by romance novels.

Could I help it if I declined a date with Jack Craner because he didn’t open my door? Or what about the time I’d been with Milo Gustavo, and we’d come across the perfect opportunity for him to be the hero when we’d been out for a walk past the park and a little girl had fallen on her bike.

I waited for him to rush to the girl’s side. Help her up. Set her bike on its wheels again. Instead, he just stood there, staring, while I rushed forward and helped her up again.

Not that there was anything wrong with me helping her… It’s just that I wanted romance . I wanted a hero, a love story like the ones I read about. Like the ones I wrote.

I wanted a man who was all man . One who went out of his way to help others. One who was the conqueror, all broad and confident, who could tackle any problem, fix a broken pipe with nothing more than a toothpick and some shaving cream, and save some birds who’d fallen out of the tree while he was at it.

And call me crazy, but I dreamed of someone who made me turn into goo with a single glance.

Kind of like Boone did.

I wasn’t sure any of the men I’d dated had ever rendered me the consistency of Play Dough every time he looked my way. I fanned myself just thinking about the sight of him heaving that big chest of his, glaring at my suitcase like it had done him an injustice, and staring at me like…

…like he wanted to throttle me for being in his space.

Yes, please. Throw me over your shoulder and tell me what a bad girl I’ve been all year.

“Seriously?” I chastised myself, tossing the notebook and its pencil onto the quilt and slumping against the pillow. “Where did that come from?”

He was already married. Why else had he gone so rigid and acted almost repulsed when I’d told him my name? When he’d found me here?

The sound of bells dusted through the air softly around me like snowfall. It was almost as though someone had run their hands across dangling wind chimes. The musical echo stroked the base of my neck and sent chills down the backs of my arms in a not-entirely-unpleasant way.

I perked up at the sound and glanced around the room.

“What was that?” I asked.

My phone was where I’d placed it on the nightstand. No music played from it.

An old-fashioned alarm clock with a face instead of digital red numbers sat beside the lamp. The dresser across from the bed stared back at me.

It was just my imagination, I tried to tell myself, but those bells sounded too real. Like Scrooge hearing bells before Marley appeared.

I was not about to linger while a ghost from my past zoned in.

Curious and the smallest bit edgy, I inspected the space, peeking below the bed, lifting the covers. I turned to the window and parted the curtains to peer into the darkness outside. The glass wasn’t sealed all that well, based on the amount of cold air seeping through it. No wonder I’d been so cold last night.

I still hadn’t managed to get the chill out of my bones.

I shivered, closing the curtains once more, and reached for some jeans and a sweater out of my suitcase. Once I folded my pajamas and put them away, a knock sounded on the door.

Junie beamed in the threshold. Though her hair frizzed along its part on the top of her head, light dazzled in her eyes. Wearing a bright red sweater covered in sequins, she looked well rested, but regardless, I had the impression that Junie was the kind of person who was happy no matter what.

What exactly were her duties here at the inn? From the sound of things, she wasn’t just the receptionist—she lived here. When she’d come in last night, she’d been in her pajamas, too.

“Morning!” Junie said. “I’m sorry to bother you—but you’ll never believe what happened.”

“It’s okay,” I said, waving her off. Because really, she did me a solid by letting me stay here. If it wasn’t for her kindness, I wasn’t sure where I would have gone. “What happened?”

“So…” She popped her lips together. “It’s the craziest thing, but your reservation turned up this morning.”

“You’re kidding.”

She lifted her hand, dangling a key from her pinched fingers. “I’m not. It’s like it got lost in the system somehow and only just rebooted. Want to get your stuff? I’ll show you where it is.”

Suspicion crept in. This didn’t make any sense. How could the reservation not have been there yesterday and be there now? I thought they were fully booked.

Unless Junie pulled some strings and got me in anyway.

“You didn’t…you’re not…”

She didn’t kick another guest out of his or her room for me, did she? She had sneaked me in here behind Boone’s back last night after all, so I couldn’t help wondering if this was legit.

Pink flushed over her freckles. “Of course not! This is for real. I swear, this is going to sound crazy, but the room is there. I checked, it’s all ready for you, Miss Eastland.”

“Grace,” I said.

“Grace. So, you ready? I can help you carry your things.”

I waited a few more seconds for her to pull out the proverbial rug or pronounce that she was only kidding, and it was time for me to leave Harper’s Inn. She did neither.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

Fortunately, I’d made the bed, but I wondered if there was anything else I needed to tidy up before leaving this space behind. My phone charger and phone were safely tucked in my slumpy bag, and I had my notebook. I think I had everything.

“Great,” Junie said. “This way.”

I clicked up the handle of my suitcase and rolled it behind me as I followed Junie out and closed the door to Boone’s room.

The inn was far more alive than it had been last night. A couple roamed the hall, turning past the dining room and toward the spa. A pair of children laughed and dashed past wearing swimming suits and carrying towels.

Junie spoke over her shoulder as she walked. “I’m ridiculously short-staffed and wanted to make sure you had a towel in case you, you know, wanted to get cleaned up or anything like that. But I checked, and the room should be fully stocked.”

“Thank you,” I told her, following her toward the front door. Rather than taking it, she turned and started up the red-carpeted stairway. My heart gave a little flutter.

There was something magical about climbing stairs and not knowing where they would lead.

“Ordinarily, we have people who clean rooms and make sure everything is in order, but this time of year is jus crazy. I’ve had two people quit on me in the last month. Can you believe that?”

“That sucks,” I said as I climbed beside her. “So you own the inn? Boone mentioned your grandparents ran it or something?”

Junie pointed down the hall to Room 11. She then turned the key, opened the door, and waited for me to go in first. The cinnamon scent trickled its way into this completely heartwarming room. It had white walls, dark wood ceilings, matching dark wood doors that led out onto what I assumed was a balcony, and an adjoining bathroom.

I wanted to plunge my backside into the plush, white armchair with its massive pink blossoms shouting all over the fabric and get lost in my own world, but Junie stepped past me and placed a box of Kleenex on the dresser.

Right. I wasn’t alone yet.

Straightening, she brushed the back of her hand against her forehead, reminding me that I’d just asked her a question.

About Boone. Right.

“He’s my second cousin. Our grandparents were cousins, and they worked together here. So yeah, I’ve kind of inherited responsibility for this place, you could say, along with my mom. Most of the time, I love it. But this year…”

Junie ambled her way toward the door with a bright smile on her face. Something told me smiling was a natural thing for her. Even as she spoke of being overwhelmed, she was smiling.

“It’s pretty incredible, being away from the hubbub and fast pace everywhere else. Once, I went to Salt Lake City. All those people and buildings and smog?” She inhaled. “Give me the open air any day.”

“I get that,” I said with a little laugh. “I’ve lived in the city my whole life. This is my first venture into the back country, I guess.”

Truth be told, this was my first time venturing off on my own, period.

Junie laughed, and her expression lit up a few freckles dusting across her nose. “Back country is about right. Well, I’d better get going. See you later.”

“Junie,” I said, catching her before she left. “Thanks for the room.”

“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I swear. Here. It’s a list of the amenities we offer. Make sure you hit up the spa while you’re here. The ladies there are amazing.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the pamphlet from her.

I wasn’t here to get pampered, but a break from writing wouldn’t hurt. Once I finally got to dive in.

And having this room now? Without the pressure of Boone breathing down my back over being here?

This might sound awful, but I couldn’t wait for Junie to leave. I was so ready to settle into that chair with my laptop and bring my characters to life.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Junie said, and then she was out, closing the door behind her.

There was something so relaxing about having space to myself. Even though I’d fallen asleep last night, I hadn’t truly been comfortable, not with Boone’s crazed interruption or the image of his bare chest parading through my mind all night long. Or the fact that so much cold air seeped in through the window.

This room was a toasty, perfect temperature. Once I placed my suitcase and the few clothes that needed to be hung up into the closet, I all but swan-dived into the chair and lost myself.

My fingers flew across the keys, transporting the words I’d written in my notebook earlier onto the screen and adding some more in the meantime. Normally, I was lucky if I got around two thousand words a day, but here? Now?

I wasn’t sure if it was the setting, the cozy room, or the fact that the kinks seemed to have been ironed out, but before I knew it, hours had passed, and I’d jumped about 10K in my word count.

“What the—what? That never happens!”

I placed my laptop onto the floor and stood, feeling a much-needed stretch in my thighs and lower back. And my stomach grumbled to boot. Sure enough, it was nearing lunch time.

I’d written all morning.

Living the dream!

The song Walking on Sunshine played through my mind, adding energy and a little extra pep in my step when additional chimes tinkled through, interrupting Katrina and the Waves in my head.

I stilled. The same tinkling noise had come earlier, just before Junie had told me my reservation had appeared. There was every chance I’d imagined it before, but hearing it a second time?

What was going on?